


Pasta And Sentimentality

by Harmony



Category: Eyeshield 21
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-17
Updated: 2013-01-17
Packaged: 2017-11-25 20:37:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/642727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harmony/pseuds/Harmony
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hiruma was always like that, Sena knew – painstakingly observant, piercingly insightful, frighteningly right about everything; it was an instinctive reaction to follow whatever he saw and whatever he did.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pasta And Sentimentality

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet was a request from katgi, who gave me the prompt "Sena forgot his lunch". Spoilers for World Cup arc. Also posted at my Livejournal :) Any feedback would be very much appreciated.

Militaria’s linebacker actually stopped.  
  
And before Sena’s mind could register that it was probably the most idiotic thing to do, he also stopped.  
  
He heard Hiruma’s voice yelling furiously behind him, somewhere. He knew he was going to get repeatedly shot for it afterwards; they’d all learned that even a fraction of a millisecond lost could cost their team plenty, even though he and the opposition were just standing there stupidly, blinking at each other. It was probably a good thing that the guy in front of him was as stupid as he was.  
  
So, _just_ narrowly missing getting tackled (or killed), Sena snapped himself out of it and bolted off like a crazy person. He could hear Shin’s mild grunt and Yamato’s entertained chuckling as he sped away.  
  


* * *

  
Cooking a huge vat of pasta for the whole team was actually quite therapeutic, especially after his somewhat embarrassing experience in the match earlier that day (and, as expected, he did get mercilessly berated for it afterwards). Sena, his messy locks swept back with a headscarf and a white apron donned on his shoulders, could hear excited voices clamoring in the communal room next door – and he felt even more relaxed, just listening to them; they’d gone through an easy match, after all, and all of his teammates were excited. Things were going smoothly as of yet, without a hitch.  
  
Although … forgetting to eat his lunch in favor of chatting with Riku that day _did_ almost cost him a touchdown; his stomach had grumbled and groaned so loud in the middle of the match that he’d even managed to startle the opposition.  
  
Sena stirred in the slices of chicken, and wrinkled his nose. _I better not do that again._  
  
‘You’re damn right you better not.’  
  
The brunet’s heart practically crashed into the roof of his mouth.  
  
Hiruma was always like that, Sena knew – painstakingly observant, piercingly insightful, frighteningly right about everything; it was an instinctive reaction to follow whatever he saw and whatever he did. So it was a reflex to him to take a step back when the tall blond behind him reached over his shoulder, to watch as he pinched some pieces of pasta and slid them onto his tongue, into his mouth.  
  
‘Ah – sorry,’ Sena said quickly. ‘I didn’t realize I was talking out loud.’  
  
Hiruma eyed him momentarily, before eyeing his cooking. ‘That is a massive shitload of food.’  
  
‘Ah, yeah,’ the brunet laughed half-heartedly. ‘I’m sure everyone here’s hungry. And we’re all Amefuto players. We probably have the appetite of an army, since we practically are … an army …’  
  
Sena couldn’t tell whether or not Hiruma was actually listening. The blond had idly reached over again, grabbing himself a few more pieces of pasta with his fingers.  
  
‘… And, well, after the silly thing I did today, this was the best thing I could think of to make up for it,’ the brunet continued anyway, watching Hiruma slide the food into his mouth. ‘We’re so far away from home – some of us probably crave a home-cooked meal now and then. Especially something like pasta, considering we just finished a match. We all need to keep up our strength, right?’  
  
Admittedly, Sena flinched a little when keen eyes turned to look into his. Hiruma licked the sauce from his fingertips.  
  
‘Um,’ the brunet started, ‘… is it good?’  
  
And before he could even blink, he’d received a swift, sharp kick to his behind, and a loud startled yelp had escaped his throat. The next thing he saw was Hiruma’s back moving away from him.  
  
‘Kehehe, your sickly-sweet sentimentality has its uses, fucking chibi,’ the blond turned his head back and smirked. ‘Your food can put some of those bastards into shape. Bring some up to my room when you’re done.’  
  
And with that, he was out of the kitchen door, and gone.  
  
Sena leaned back against the benchtop, staring in surprise at the empty doorway. It wasn’t because of what the blond had said - Hiruma was always unapologetically honest, distinctly straightforward about things like that, or about anything in general. But their entire exchange might’ve felt somewhat more welcoming, maybe even warmer, than usual. Than _ever_. Then again, they’d both come miraculously far in what they all considered a surreal story; Sena’s heart might have just skipped a beat for no reason in particular that he could think of.  
  
The brunet made sure to set aside one empty bowl before he resumed cooking.


End file.
